


A survivor

by dancey94



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-20 12:27:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10662582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancey94/pseuds/dancey94
Summary: Hannibal broaches their fall and the reasons behind it. It turns out it wasn't Will's first attempted suicide.





	A survivor

**Author's Note:**

> rated M because of the suicide talk  
> written because i had a fucking terrible evening full of tears and self-hate  
> what if Will had them, too? (might have due to his empathy)

_What was it again?_

Will reaches for a knife and places a carrot firmly on the board. He cuts it, slowly, applying just enough pressure and more. His hand is tightly wrapped around the handle, as if clutching to sanity. He’s not going to burst; he is not going to go off like a bomb. Funny, Will thinks, how he just adopted some of Hannibal’s behaviour and instead of yelling at the man, he refrains himself, keeping perfect composure.

“Enough.”

Will puts down the knife with a loud clang. He takes a deep breath, once again replaying the scene in his mind to assure himself that it truly offered an excuse to leave the room, shutting the door behind him.

He’s blushing now, ashamed that he avoided an open confrontation. His hands start shaking, now that he let go of the knife.

His footsteps are hesitant as he walks out of the kitchen. It’s utterly silent in the house, as if no one lived here. Will wonders if Hannibal decided to take a walk to the forest. But then, he hears barely audible murmur coming from the living room. As he approaches the room, he recognised the unmistakable rustle of papers and the sound of a pencil moving over a blank page.

Will stops in the threshold and crosses his arms. He watches Hannibal draw something, lost in thought, trying to recreate an image from memory. The sight is breath-taking. Here sits the beast, the monster. An animal, hungry for blood, condemned by everyone. Here, in this very room, in such close proximity, sits the man Will cannot deny he loves. And he looks, oh, so lovely and peaceful. How could anyone call this man a monster? He’s harmless, just sitting in a comfy chair, with slightly saddened expression on his face.

“I’m under the impression that I was wrong in thinking that it’s always me who looks at you when you’re not looking.” Hannibal says and goes on with the drawing.

“Since you noticed…”

Will enters the room fully and takes a seat in a safe distance from his lover. The pill took almost half an hour ago only now starts working.

“What will it be?” Will asks, trying to delay the real conversation. It’s going to happen, of that he is certain, but he wants to at least get to decide when and how.

“A tree upon a hill,” Hannibal says plainly, not pausing for a second.

“Why?”

“Why indeed?”

In the stretching moment of silence, Will feels tears forming in the corners of his eyes. He’s not going to remain emotionless or silent, for that matter. Hannibal broached a serious issue and should be aware of the consequences.

“Judas,” Hannibal whispered.

“Oh, are you comparing me to Judas now?”

“No.”

“Good. Because his suicide made more sense than my would ever have.”

“I’m glad you said it.”

Hannibal puts down the pencil and the drawing. For another moment, neither of the men speak. That conversation should not be tackled with haste and anger.

“Tell me, how many attempts?” Hannibal asks, shifting his gaze towards Will, who sighs and clenches his fists. He doesn’t want to appear frightened or angry but with it may prove difficult to achieve after all. The short span of time since the last attempt doesn’t make it easier, either.

“Three.”

“I assume you count our death as the third one?”

“Yes.”

Hannibal nods and waits for a second. The information must tough to swallow. Obviously, Will acts like he has no intention of trying again but the fact that he’s tried three times already would make anyone stop and reflect.

Will doesn’t want to reflect. He doesn’t want to come back to those times when it didn’t feel real to live, when he questioned his existence and struggled to keep breathing.

“When was the first time?”

Here it is. Will settles comfortably in the chair and looks at Hannibal. There is a tension between them and Will hopes that it does not vanish quickly. He wants Hannibal to suffer as much as he did.

“When I was a teenager,” Will replies nonchalantly, his eyelids half-closed. It’s as if he didn’t care anymore.

“When there was passion inside you. But you didn’t want it to end, did you? You wanted to fight?”

“I wanted it to pass. I wanted to be already in a different place in my life.”

“So when was the next time?”

That question Will leaves hanging. He doesn’t want it be so easy for Hannibal, as it wasn’t easy for him. Despite his prejudices, it really is relieving to talk about it. He wanted to make it quick and never go back to it again but the expression on Hannibal’s face made him change his mind. _Let him know_.

“I suppose you could say I stumbled on your knife on my own volition,” Will says with a half-smirk, as the memories of that tragic night flood his mind and he knows he’ll have dreams about it for the next few days. It’s still a vivid vision but he’s not sure if it was real anymore.

“You let me kill you.”

“You didn’t kill me.”

“And it was both unfortunate and foolish of you to think that I ever could.”

“Margot once told me, if at first you don’t succeed, try, try again. It was the advice _you_ gave her. So I suppose you have only yourself to blame what my relentlessness.”

That remark forces Hannibal to smile. The “therapy” continues to break through the deepest layers of Will’s consciousness. Every word Hannibal has ever said to him was noted and imprinted on his brain and it’s difficult to let go.

 “I applaud your effort. Always have.”

Will flinches and closes his eyes. He rubs his forehead and his temples. The pill hasn’t really helped.

“What’s wrong?” Hannibal asks and stands from his seat. He approaches Will and reaches out. Will feels a warm hand on his forehead and leans into the touch.

“I have a nasty headache that’s just _killing_ me,” Will says, smiling faintly.


End file.
